


All This Damage I Have Won

by grimark



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Alcohol, Angst, Infidelity, Light BDSM, M/M, Rough Sex, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 22:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4937104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimark/pseuds/grimark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think I've had enough of sneaking around in the shadows to last me a lifetime," says Dorian.<br/>As it turns out, this is not quite true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All This Damage I Have Won

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't really how I see Dorian's character, but I think it's a reasonable enough interpretation to fit with the scenario I had in mind. I'm pretty new to writing fic, so concrit would be greatly appreciated!

The first time is good- more than good, it's fucking phenomenal. It’s not like Bull's going to admit that to Dorian, though. He could do with the encouragement, but Bull would never hear the end of it.

The next day, Bull finds Dorian in the halls near the library. He reaches out, like this: two fingers to the wrist, just enough to get his attention. Give him some space, don't want to make him feel pressured. Dorian’s still skittish, for all that he'd been shameless enough last night.

"Hey, big guy," Bull says. Keep it casual. "How you feeling?"

Dorian gives him an appraising look. "Well as ever, I suppose."

Bull smiles. From Dorian, that means ‘good’.

"Listen," he says. "About last night-"

"Subtlety really isn't your strong point, is it?" says Dorian sharply, and there it is, Bull's scared him off.

"Look," says Bull, "I'm just saying I enjoyed it, and I'd like to do it again if you're ever in the mood. That's all."

Dorian's face softens into a teasing smile. "I make no promises," he says.

"One thing, though," says Bull. "If this is gonna keep happening, I want it to be above board. I know you like to be private about this sort of shit, and that's fine. We can work with that. But I won't be anyone's dirty secret."

"A bit presumptuous, don't you think?" says Dorian, but he's still smiling. "What makes you think you're even going to be that?"

"Up to you," says Bull, shifting ever so slightly into Dorian's space. He knows how this game is played.

\--

The second time, Bull has Dorian pressed up against the door of his room, as they trade hungry kisses in the dark.

Dorian gives an idle flick of his wrist, and suddenly the fireplace roars to life. Bull is still somewhat taken aback by such casual displays of magic, but he’s good enough not to let it show.

"That's better, isn't it?" says Dorian. "Now that I'm not in Tevinter, I rather like being able to fuck in the light."

"Works for me," says Bull. He can see Dorian better like this, can savour the gleam of firelight on his skin, gilding the edges of every expression he makes.

"I think I've had enough of sneaking around in the shadows to last me a lifetime," says Dorian.

\--

As it turns out, this is not quite true.

\--

Dorian's got a bit of a thing for the Inquisitor. Bull can kind of see why. Lavellan's not really his type, but he can admit the two of them do look good together.

It's a pretty obvious crush. Bull spots it even before he spots the attraction Dorian has for Bull himself. Lavellan is easily Dorian's closest friend in the whole of Skyhold, the first one to trust him, and Dorian clearly admires him.

Bull doesn't have a problem with it. He's never been given to jealousy, particularly over casual lays. If he got upset every time someone he'd fucked once or twice moved on to somebody else, he'd spend his whole life tying himself up in knots.

Dorian flirts very prettily, though. Bull will give him that. He's sitting in the corner of the Herald’s Rest, watching Dorian ply his craft, and it's not a bad view at all.

"Something caught your eye, chief?" asks Krem, grinning. As if the little smartass didn't know exactly what Bull was looking at.

"You could say that," Bull allows. It looks like Dorian is getting somewhere, at least. He's leaning on the bar, talking lowly, fingers propped against his jaw. Lavellan appears enthralled. Dorian says something, smiling slyly, and Lavellan tips back his head and laughs.

"You okay with all that?" Krem asks, ever the fusspot. Bull blames himself for that habit.

"All what?" Bull plays dumb. It's a transparent ploy, as he knows exactly what Krem’s talking about, and Krem knows that he knows.

"Your little Altus friend over there putting moves on the boss."

Bull shrugs. "I don't own him," he says. "He can do what he likes."

Dorian keeps it going for an hour or so, and he puts up a good show, at least from where Bull's sitting. But finally Lavellan excuses himself, and Dorian is left alone at the bar.

He downs the rest of his mug of ale, then turns and saunters over to where the Chargers are sitting.

"No luck?" Bull asks, motioning for the others to move along so Dorian can slide into the seat next to him.

"With what?" Dorian asks, looking genuinely perplexed. He's a better actor than Bull gave him credit for.

"With the boss," he clarifies. "I'd stick at it, if I were you, he looked pretty interested. Might just need a bit more sweet-talking."

"Oh yes?" says Dorian, raising a single haughty eyebrow. "And I suppose you know all about sweet talking."

Bull grins. "Knew enough to get you into bed," he says, and Dorian doesn't even bother trying to deny it.

\--

Later that night, when Dorian is sweating and writhing beneath him, the topic comes up again.

“Did you ever think,” he pants, “that the Inquisitor might just have higher standards than I do?”

“Yeah,” says Bull. He normally quite likes Dorian’s constant needling, it gets things fired up a bit, but right now he could really do without it. “I think he’s got higher standards than the both of us.”

\--

“The Qunari don’t do romantic relationships,” is what Bull tells anyone who asks. This includes Dorian, when they first started this thing of theirs.

He’s not really a Qunari, not anymore, but certain habits stick around. It makes things easier.

\--

When Dorian finally makes progress with the Inquisitor, it seems like the whole of Skyhold knows about it.

Bull’s not sure how word gets out, exactly. They’re both very private people, not given to airing out their personal business. But it doesn’t take an ex-spy to notice the way they drift into each other’s space now, or the besotted smile that creeps over Lavellan’s face when he thinks no one’s looking.

Bull gets his confirmation from Sera, of all people. Apparently she and Dorian had become friends at some point when he wasn’t paying attention. She uses words like ‘jousting’ to describe his relationship with Lavellan, then cackles to herself about it.

“But really,” she adds, looking about as serious as she ever does. “I think it’ll be good. Dorian’s a whatsit, a hothouse orchid, yeah? Needs someone to take care of him. Quizzie’s good at that.”

That’s fair enough. Bull excels in giving his lovers what they need, usually, but there are some things he can’t quite manage. Dorian needs a relationship. Needs it so badly he fled his home and everything he’d ever known for it. If he’s found it with Lavellan, that’s good. Bull’s satisfied with that outcome.

He starts sleeping with the barmaids again, and tries to get back to normal.

\--

Dorian still comes to drink with the Chargers. Sometime during his elaborate charade of getting tipsy on weak ale with them, so he had plausible deniability when he emerged from Bull’s room the next morning, it seems he’d actually made some friends.

Good for him.

Lavellan comes with him, sometimes. He gets along well with Dalish, to absolutely no one’s surprise. Krem gives him the cold shoulder for a while, but he’d done the same to Dorian initially. He’d get over it.

Lavellan always leaves before everyone else. The little elf drank almost nothing, and kept disgustingly respectable hours. Sometimes Dorian left with him, other times not.

Bull tried not to theorise about what they got up to when they left together, but it wasn’t easy. Maybe Lavellan tied him up. Dorian would look good in rope. He obviously liked being restrained, Bull had picked up on that one pretty quickly, and he’d always meant to take it a bit further.

No use thinking about that, though. He’d had a good thing with Dorian, and now Dorian had a good thing with someone else. That was how it worked. Easy, no attachments, no complications. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, and so on.

\--

When Dorian stumbles upstairs with Bull, he’s completely fucking plastered. He’s also pretty handsy, but that’s a burden which Bull is willing to nobly bear. He likes Dorian’s hands, really. They’re broad and blunt-fingered, but still so delicate compared to his own. They flit about when he speaks- one moment resting on his hip, the next, coming up to touch against his jaw or smooth his moustache. Right now they’re splayed across Bull’s chest and shoulder as Dorian pretends he needs help walking straight, and Bull can’t bring himself to mind.

“Maker, Bull,” says Dorian, leaning up against him. “You’re fucking huge.”

“It’s been said before,” says Bull, resisting the obvious opening.

“I know,” says Dorian. “I just forgot, I suppose. Mm.”

He’s toying with the buckle of Bull’s belt, now, and Bull wouldn’t need any more of an invitation if it weren’t for the fact that Dorian’s obviously drunk out of his mind.

“C’mon,” he says, steering Dorian further down the corridor, with the eventual destination of the little room Dorian calls his own. “Let’s get you to bed. Your own bed.”

Dorian, surprisingly, simply gives a little sigh and allows himself to be led.

\--

The next time something like that happens, they’re both completely sober.

It’s a slow night for Bull. He’s done some paperwork regarding the Chargers’ next assignment, that which he couldn’t get away with delegating to Krem. Now he’s writing a report, detailing the events of the last week and analyzing any useful intelligence he’s picked up. It’s a bad habit, but a stubborn one. He burns the reports in the fireplace when he’s done.

Dorian lets himself into Bull’s room without even bothering to knock. He doesn’t bother making small talk, either, which would have been a waste of time for both of them, and an insult to Bull’s observational skills.

They both know why he’s here. There’s only one reason why he ever comes here.

Dorian likes it when Bull picks him up, knocks him around a bit. Dorian’s a solid man, but Bull can throw him over one shoulder with very little trouble, assuming Dorian doesn’t struggle.

Dorian always struggles. That’s part of what makes it fun.

He’s on Bull’s bed in short order, fighting his way out of his ridiculous clothing and out of Bull’s grip simultaneously. Dorian manages to knee Bull in the crotch, probably on purpose, which really should be the opposite of sexy. It hurts like hell, but honestly that just makes him harder.

Dorian’s panting, hair mussed. He looks fucking livid, and Bull wants to eat him alive.

“Missed this,” he mumbles, pressing his face into the junction of Dorian’s neck and shoulder and breathing in. _Missed you,_ he thinks. The one brief lapse into sentimentality he’ll allow himself.

“No marks,” says Dorian, pushing Bull away from his neck. “My watchword is katoh, now hurry up and fuck me.”

Bull kind of wants to flip Dorian over, ass in the air, but he wants even more to see his face.

“Lavellan know about this?” he asks, aiming for conversational. He might not be an expert on romantic relationships, but he’s pretty sure that’s a thing. The other person is supposed to know.

Dorian looks incredulous. “Do you mind not bringing up other men when I’m trying to get you to pound me into the mattress?” he asks. It’s an obvious evasion, and Bull really should call the whole thing off right now. But, well. Dorian’s in his bed, half naked and shockingly handsome, and Bull finds his resolve is weak.

“Does Lavellan know about this?” he repeats. He wants to know where he stands.

Dorian avoids his gaze. “Lavellan’s not here,” he snaps, and that tells Bull nothing and everything all at once.

Bull does fuck Dorian into the mattress, in the long run. Dorian fights him every step of the way, nails leaving little white crescents in Bull’s shoulders and back. It takes a fuck of a lot of pressure to make marks like that in Bull’s thick skin, however temporary they may be, and he relishes them.

Afterwards, Dorian makes Bull go wash himself off with the pitcher of water kept on the sideboard. He’s obviously planning something.

Dorian gives him a little while to recover, but not too long, before slipping off the bed to take Bull tenderly into his mouth. Bull comes again, for once without making sure his partner has done so first.

He’s not sure if it’s meant as thanks or as an apology, so he watches Dorian pick his clothes up off the floor and puts it out of his mind.

\--

It’s not that Lavellan isn’t strong. Bull thinks Lavellan might just be one of the strongest people he’s ever met. The weight of the world is resting on those narrow shoulders, and Bull has never once seen them bowed.

But still. Still, Lavellan holds Dorian’s hand whenever they kiss. Bull’s seen them do it. Lavellan smiles at Dorian like he’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen, and leans up to kiss him softly on the cheek.

Bull thinks of Dorian, swearing into the mattress, calling Bull a savage, telling him to put his fucking back into it. It’s not a difficult image to bring to mind. He’s seen it in person enough times before.

He thinks about Dorian’s wrists, caught up and trapped in the span of his fingers and thumb. He thinks about Dorian begging to be hit, to be choked.

Dorian reaches for Lavellan’s hand, narrow and bird-boned, and runs a thumb over the knuckles. Bull watches this and frowns.

\--

Bull lies naked on crumpled bedsheets, watching Dorian fuss with the collar of his robes. There are finger-shaped bruises on his neck.

Lavellan won’t be back for at least a week, so that’s not an issue, but Dorian doesn’t like for people to notice these things.

“What you need is someone to take care of you,” says Bull, nearly quoting Sera directly. She’s not wrong, he thinks.

“What I _need_ ,” Dorian parrots, “is someone who will give my arse a good slap and not try to _apologise_ for it afterwards.”

Bull grins, in spite of himself. “Is that what he does?”

“I don’t know,” says Dorian. “We haven’t quite worked up to that yet.”

\--

Bull isn’t a stranger to playing the bit on the side, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. He’s always figured if someone wants to run around behind their partner’s back like that, it’s their problem to work out, not his. If it’s just a one-off encounter he prefers not to know about it, and if it becomes a more regular thing, he tells them to get their shit sorted out and come talk to him then.

This is different.

He tries telling himself after the first time that they’d probably worked it out- Lavellan was away from Skyhold often, so Dorian could turn to Bull to keep him company. Lavellan was kind and gentle, too gentle for everything Dorian would inevitably ask him to do, so they’d agreed he would get that elsewhere.

These justifications were a load of shit, of course. Hissrad he might once have been, but Bull was not in the habit of lying to himself.

The truth, then, as far as he could see: Dorian was just doing what Dorian did, and Lavellan had no idea.

He tries to wrap his head around the business. With the tamassrans, it’s not complicated. You see whoever you’re told to see, and then you leave.

The way bas do relationships, it gets all tangled up. People like to think they own each other, and then they get hurt when it turns out they don’t.

He tries to contextualise it- it’s like giving a man a dragon tooth, and then calling someone else kadan. But it doesn’t work like that. The way things are going, it will probably end badly for everyone involved. After all, you’ve only got the one heart.

\--

It’s not a nice thing to have Sera dropping out of the rafters and pointing an arrow at your face.

“You’re mucking around with Dorian, aren’t you?” she demands, never one to mince words.

“Yep,” says Bull. “He started it.”

Sera frowns. This has obviously thrown her off her stride. He thinks she’s most likely planned out a speech for him, planned out how she’ll extract her confession and warn him off, and now he’s ruined it.

“Why’s he doing that, then?” she asks, suspicious. “He’s all lovey-dovey with Lavellan, ain’t he?”

Bull sighs, and says, “I honestly have no idea.”

\--

“Buy me a drink?” Dorian asks, sitting down on the bench next to Bull. Plausible deniability.

Bull can’t help the little surge of anticipation he feels, knowing what’s next. He’s not some kind of slobbering mabari pup, coming running when it’s called- but fuck it, he is. Dorian’s wearing a red silk sash around his waist this evening, under his belt. It’s going to look stunning, tied around his wrists.

“What would you like, Lord Pavus?” Bull asks, just a little bit mocking.

Dorian rolls his eyes. “I suppose some of that swill the Fereldans call ale will have to suffice, if there’s nothing better on offer.”

The look Cabot directs him from behind the bar is distinctly irritable, but he draws a mug anyway. He’s used to Dorian badmouthing his wares, and puts up with it so long as he gets paid.

“You dropping by this evening?” Bull asks, passing Dorian his ale. Lavellan’s currently at Skyhold, but he’s been busy lately, so that’s one concern out of the way.

“Oh, I might do,” Dorian says blandly, but the look he flicks Bull from under his lashes is anything but.

They don’t even make it into Bull’s room before he’s got Dorian crowded up against the wall, mouths smeared together. Dorian’s gripping his horns, shifting the way he does when he wants Bull to pick him up, wants to put his legs around Bull’s waist and be held there.

They might do it against the wall tonight. That’ll be fun. Even more fun if he can get Dorian’s arms tied up first.

They get past the door, finally, and Bull can’t wait to have Dorian’s clothes off. Dorian’s swearing again, a chant of _fuck me fuck me fuck me,_ and what else is Bull to do, really? It’s intoxicating, the way he throws his head back, baring his beautiful neck. He’s tight and he’s hot and there’s a lovely, hitching gasp he makes when Bull sinks his teeth into his shoulder—

Bull realises he’s well and truly fucked. He wants this for himself, even though it’s not his to keep. He can’t give Dorian what he needs, not like Lavellan can, but damn if he isn’t good at giving him what he wants.

“Kadan-” Bull blurts out, before he can stop himself.

He’s worried Dorian will ask him, later, what it means. He doesn’t. Maybe he thought it was a profanity. Maybe he didn’t even hear it. Maybe he did, and he doesn’t want to know.

\--

If he’s honest with himself, Bull knows that this can’t keep going on forever. It’s gotten past the point where he can rationalise it as a mistake, or as a bit of harmless fun. Krem’s started making that concerned face when he catches Bull staring at Dorian and Lavellan from across the tavern, started giving Dorian dirty looks and muttering things at him in Tevene. Bull doesn’t speak it enough to know what Krem’s saying, but he knows his lieutenant, and he knows that tone of voice. It’s probably not anything nice.

He’s not sure whether Lavellan has figured it out yet or not. He doesn’t like to consider that too much- when he does, he gets a tight, sick sensation in his stomach that he thinks might be guilt. It’s a new feeling, and not a pleasant one. Bull doesn’t think he’s ever felt guilty about sex before.

He should really start sleeping with other people. There are barmaids in Skyhold, servants and scribes and the occasional soldier, who like being held down or picked up or thrown about. There are those who gasp prettily, who look gilded in the firelight, who fight back like demons and then submit so sweetly when it suits them.

None of them are Dorian, and that’s the problem- or rather, it’s a problem that this should even _be_ a problem.

\--

“On your knees, if you would,” says Dorian. His hands are tied behind his back, his arms and chest wrapped in rope, knotting and twisting into patterns that take a long time to make but are well worth the effort.

“I didn’t realise you were the one giving orders here,” says Bull, but he goes down easily enough.

“Please,” Dorian says dismissively. “As if I could make you do anything you didn’t want to do.”

 _Oh, my heart,_ thinks Bull. _If only you knew._

Bull feels like it’s up to him to retake a bit of initiative here, and he does so, nipping cruelly but carefully at Dorian’s inner thighs, and at his cock, just a gentle scrape of teeth that has Dorian shivering.

“Does the Inquisitor do this for you?” Bull can’t stop himself from asking. As soon as the words are out he wants to take them back. Clumsy, desperate. The Ben Hassrath would have stuck his ass in remedial training at the very least.

“What, suck my cock?” says Dorian, thankfully oblivious to Bull’s momentary crisis. “What do you think we do, hold hands and plan our wedding?”

“I meant this,” says Bull, biting his thigh a little harder. Dorian deserves it, and the yelp he gives is satisfying.

“And this,” Bull adds, reaching up to trace a finger along a twist of rope.

“You know very well he doesn’t,” Dorian sighs. “It’s not terribly important, and it makes him uncomfortable.”

Bull doesn’t ask what Dorian’s doing here, if it’s so unimportant to him. He doesn’t think he’d like the answer, assuming he got one. Assuming there is one.

Bull would be perfectly happy to kneel here forever, teasing Dorian with lips and his teeth, bringing him close to the edge and allowing him to slip away again. But his bad leg wouldn’t like that, and besides, Dorian gets impatient. Bull’s in a mood to indulge him.

“Shift up on the bed,” Bull says, heaving himself to his feet. He can lie down between Dorian’s legs like this, propped up on his elbows, and let Dorian thrust into his mouth.

It’s very nearly too much, choking and cloying, nothing but the smell and taste of him, and his quiet sounds of pleasure. It’s barely enough.

Bull draws back eventually and lets Dorian finish in his hand, makes him lick up his own come. Dorian does as he’s directed, in this at least.

Sometimes, afterwards, Dorian is tired and sated enough that he falls asleep right there in Bull’s bed. Bull has to shift him over onto his stomach to start unpicking the knotted ropes.

“There you go, big guy,” says Bull, rubbing the rope marks marring Dorian’s skin. He’d offered to get softer ropes, or tie them loose enough that they didn’t cut in or chafe, but Dorian liked it better that way.

“Mm,” says Dorian, stretching out like a cat. “I should probably leave.”

“Yeah,” Bull agrees. He probably should.

\--

Dorian walks into the Herald’s Rest, and heads in Bull’s direction. He’s lacking something of his usual swagger, and Bull realises immediately what’s happened.

“You and Lavellan broke it off, huh?” he asks. He tries to be sympathetic, he really does, but honestly it’s been a long time coming.

“We did.” says Dorian. He doesn’t look like he wants to talk about it. He looks like he wants to get really fucking drunk, and then have Bull bind his wrists and bend him over the edge of a table.

Bull wishes he could honestly say that’s not going to happen.

“Mind if I ask why?” Bull can’t help rubbing salt into the wound, just a little. Dorian looks tired.

“Would you believe it if I told you I just couldn’t stand one more night of looking at his hideous curtains?” Dorian asks.

Bull shakes his head.

“Not really,” he says.

Dorian sighs. He gazes down at his hands for a good long while, long enough that Bull starts to think they’re done here. He really should know better than that by now.

Dorian glances up at him. He’s smiling, just a little.

“Buy me a drink?” he asks.

Cabot has a mug at the ready before Bull can even ask.

“If that’s what you want,” says Bull, and reaches out to take it.


End file.
